Pupil Dynamics
by SailorHikarinoMu
Summary: 'It's true what they say, you know. About eyes being the windows to the soul.' Warnings: Fluff, America being America and Germany being Germany, MxM, North Italy x Canada. The setting is Toronto, ON, Canada.


Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor any of its characters. It's probably better off that way anyways… (*cough*or weird things like _this_ would happen*cough*).

 **Pupil Dynamics**

" _Pupils dilate or contract as the light dims or brightens. But pupils also change size according to what the brain behind them is doing, whether that's recalling memories, analyzing a problem or experiencing strong emotions. We may be unaware that our eyes are giving away so much while our brains are busy, but others who are aware can use that information to gauge their responses to us._

 _People have been deliberately sending messages with their eyes since at least the Renaissance. Back then, Italian women used eyedrops derived from the deadly nightshade plant – which they called belladonna, or 'beautiful woman' – to dilate their pupils, believing that it made them more attractive. It wasn't until hundreds of years later that anyone could figure out why dilated pupils were so alluring. In the 1960s, a study showed that our pupils dilate when we're looking at something interesting or attractive. So a Renaissance man gazing into the eyes of a woman who had just used belladonna eyedrops would see dilated pupils and unconsciously assume she was looking at something she found appealing: him!_ "

~Excerpt from "What Do Our Pupils Say About Us?"

The Science of Why: Answers to Questions About the World Around Us, by Jay Ingram

* * *

Canada hurriedly burst through the double-doors of the meeting room, America all the while yelling, "Mattie, wait! I got an even better one! This burger will legit blow your Canucking mind, yo. I mean dude, it has Beaver Tails as buns and everything!" from right behind him.

Still shivering from Alfred's possible ideas for an 'all-Canadian hamburger masterpiece' (why the superpower was even set on making them, Matthew did not know), the Canadian was intent on running the hell out of the conference building until he suddenly collided with another solid body.

" _Ayoye… ma tête_." Matthew rubbed his aching forehead, apologies automatically at the forefront of his mind. "Gosh, I'm so sorry. I really didn't see you there. I was just–" he interrupted himself at the sound of soft chuckles.

"It's okay, Matteo. No harm done! _Ho la testa dura_ as _mio fratello_ Romano always says."

Violet eyes widened at the familiar voice. "Italy? What are you doing here?"

Said Mediterranean chuckled some more before answering excitedly, "Ve~! There's a meeting today, remember? My good friend Germany told me so."

Internally smacking himself at his own stupidity, the North American offered a meek "Ah, right," in response. Wanting to dissolve the somewhat awkward situation, he took the time to eye the attractive brunet before him, and smiled bashfully. "I like your shoes, by the way. Uhm, I think they're very fashionable."

Blinking in surprise, Feliciano briefly looked down at his feet before considerably brightening. "Oh? You find? _Grazie_ , Canada! _Signore_ Armani designed them just for me."

"Mattie? Are you still there? Maaaaaaaaaaaatt! Bro, dude, come back."

At that, Matthew was reminded of the reason he had been running in the first place, and thus immediately leapt to his feet. "Shit, I gotta go before he sees me. Bye Italy."

Gesturing wildly, the European quickly followed after him. "Wait, Matteo, wait! I'll come with you."

By the time Alfred got to the door, unknowingly near the spot where his brother and Italy had been chatting not even five minutes prior, the latter two were just rushing out of the building.

"…Huh. I could've sworn I heard someone say 'Canada'." The American shrugged, blue eyes pensive behind glasses. "Bope. Whatevs, I still got plenty of ideas for the perfect Cana-burger. A mountain of those and it'll be the best 150th b-day present ever." He made his way back into the room, cheerfully whistling Yankee Doodle. "Awww yee."

* * *

Slamming the door behind him, Canada fell to his knees as he willed his heart to slow. "We made it to my house. Thank goodness, we made it." After a moment of respite, breaths evening out, he resumed, "A moment longer and he would've caught us for sure, eh Italy?"

When silence was all that greeted him, the blond chanced a glance only to have lips smash against his own.

Caught by surprise, he reflexively pushed the Italian off him. "What the –" he interrupted himself when he saw the look Italy was sending him.

"You noticed my shoes. Not only that, you complimented them. Do you have any idea what that does to me? How crazy you have made me?" Slowly advancing towards the – currently, very-much-speechless – Canadian, he whispered, "No, you don't. You have no clue." Sufficiently close, he raised a hand to twirl a stray strand of honey-golden hair around his forefinger, before slowly letting it slip away. Caramel eyes swept over the North American appreciatively, up and down, to ultimately rest on the Canadian's face. "Your eyes are so pretty, Matteo. So big and soulful. So expressive… so easy to read," he muttered the last part under his breath.

As if paralyzed, all Matthew could do was watch as North Italy leant forward to kiss him once more.

He then jerked away when his phone went off from inside his pants pocket. Hastily rising to his feet, he fished it out and answered, "Hello? Matthew Williams speaking."

The European watched, highly amused, as Canada held the device as far away from his ear the moment Germany began yelling from the other side.

Heh. Whenever one Ludwig Beilschmidt was involved, it certainly payed to put your phone on 'silent' mode – especially when skipping meetings, which was presently the case. The Italian bet that if he checked, there would be at least 30 missed calls and an even greater amount of text messages waiting for him.

Though finally, in a rare show of dangerously dwindling patience, Feliciano plucked the mobile phone from the Canadian's hand and hit 'end call'. For further measure, he shut it off. "There. Now… where were we?"

He smirked when Matthew merely gulped, those lovely violet eyes of his wide with barely concealed cluelessness – and a soupçon of anticipation.

Either way, the North American was at a loss for what to do next, and the Mediterranean was exceptionally thrilled by said fact.

* * *

Sometime later, America recklessly knocked the front door down as he made his way into his brother's Toronto home. "Matt! Seriously dude, I need some input. Tell me what you think about…" he trailed off when the house appeared empty. He was about to call out for the Canadian once more, until:

" _Mon Dieu, Italie._ Harder! Please, go harder!"

" _Ah, il mio bello Canada! Nessun problema, tesoro mio. Non ti preoccupare_ , I'll take care of you."

America stood dumbly in place for a moment, before shaking it off.

Secretly impressed – 'Damn Mattie, you got yourself Feliciano? Well done, bro' – the superpower gingerly placed the door back onto its hinges before leaving without a word.

Now, to somehow convince Germany into believing both Italy and Canada had a legitimate reason for missing the day's meeting…

* * *

Satisfied, the European sighed as he rested his head on top of Matthew's bare chest. "That was wonderful, Matteo."

Huffing and puffing – the Italian had really tested his stamina – Canada grinned, "Ya find? I'm glad ya think so."

In response, Italy merely snuggled closer, secretly admiring the contrast of his skin against the Canadian's, olive versus porcelain.

They remained like that a handful of minutes, allowing enough time for their racing hearts to slow, before Matthew broke the silence:

"How'd you know?"

"Hmm?" Caramel eyes lazily dragged themselves up to violet counterparts.

"How'd you know that I wouldn't push you away when you kissed me for the second time?"

To that, the European let slip a few soft chuckles, his smirk disturbingly vainglorious as if hiding a secret only he knew the story of, "I told you. Your eyes."

* * *

Fin – End

Translations:

" _Ayoye… ma tête_ " – French for "Ouch… my head"

" _Ho la testa dura_ " – Italian for "I have a hard head"

" _mio fratello_ " – Italian for "my brother"

" _Mon Dieu, Italie_ " – French for "My God, Italy"

" _Ah, il mio bello Canada!_ " – Italian for "Oh, my beautiful Canada!"

" _Nessun problema, tesoro mio._ " – Italian for "No problem, my treasure."

" _Non ti preoccupare_ " – Italian for "Don't worry/Not to worry"

 **A/N:** I've had this on my computer for months now (I had intended on posting this before Canada day… which explains why I mention Canada's 150th birthday) but was at a loss as to how to finish it. Nevertheless, after all this time I just got a momentary burst of inspiration yesterday and thus this piece is now finished! It's a rather dumb story, I know, but I mostly wrote it for the LOLs anyways. The excerpt that I included at the beginning is what gave me the idea to write this in the first place. I mean as soon as I saw the words 'Renaissance' and 'Italian', I was like 'aww yee, some North Italy x Canada is in order!' Plus, science-lover that I am, I thought this could maybe teach you something, mainly how cool eyes are! I mean they really are the windows to the soul, aren't they!?

Kisses from Canada,

~SHnM


End file.
